The Assignment
by Shiroshitsujis
Summary: Her soul was meant to be reaped. "Maybe," he whispered at an octave too low for any one besides her to hear," you could be an exception." Although no one ever really was.
1. Chapter 1

**_The Assignment_**

**Compatible-ish** **with canon. Also, in this particular fic, Grell is always going to be referred to as a boy. I've looked it up, and I've got differing answers. So...Yeah. Also I don't know who the Head of the DMD is, so I improvised. **

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'Finally, a normal day' he speculated while traveling the customary circuit to his flat. Sutcliff had been suspended for today and wasn't around to pester him which added to the overall productive day. All of his employees had kept the foolishness to a minimum and their concentration at a helpful level. Not to say that his employees were always useless; they just weren't the most productive group in the building. He had finished all of his work before the appointed clock-out time, so, not one to break routine and leave early, he used the extra time to get ahead in his work. When one _finally_ receives such a peaceful day, they should not waste it. This applies to the dark-haired Supervisor of the Dispatch Management Division, as well.

Although tomorrow, he had a special job, or... that's what his superior had blabbed... which, in reality, meant that he had extra, taxing work to do. So getting ahead would be more valuable than he had first assumed. His superior had divulged something about "making _absolutely sure_ that he was _extra_ careful" and that "he had better not screw it up". Although, it's rare that _he_ ever screws anything up. It's Sutcliff that constantly messes up, anyway. However, he would follow his job without question and would take care to be extra meticulous, like the good, little worker bee he was. He just hoped that he wouldn't have to work overtime_... again_

He arrived at his home at the same time he did everyday that he labored regular hours. Reclining on the faded grey couch, he contemplated it all, and, at the end of his contemplation, he decided to eat dinner and go to bed. During said activities, a cliche, uncomfortable feeling weighed in his gut about the secretive way his superior had informed him of the assignment. 'Whatever it is,' he thought, 'it will be easier to accomplish with a good night's sleep.' So, with that intelligent thought, the dark-haired reaper fell into a restful sleep.

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Waking up, he subconsciously registered that he had woken up naturally, as it was exactly three minutes before his alarm would go off. He had slept well, as he had hoped. Sutcliff was back on the job today. Hopefully, the mischievous shinigami would behave today, but, in the most likely scenario, it would be destructive chaos at its finest... _again_.

Thoughtlessly, he had gone through his morning routine, which included watering a plant, without flaw. Locking his front door, he set off for the reaper's headquarters, as it was commonly referred to as.

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Finally reaching the marble staircase, he ambled up to the intimidating, polished oak entrance. Hearing the tell-tale creaks of the aged door while opening it, he entered into the dispatch section of the building. Passing by some new recruits, he settled in his desk smoothly, the swiveling chair tilting with the familiar weight. Well, Sutcliff hadn't tried to molest him yet, nor had he observed any sign of the frequently late dispatch agent_...Wait...He spoke _too_ soon..._

"Will!" He yelled as a greeting while rushing-more like skipping like a little, lovestruck teenage girl-towards the offended shinigami.

"Sutcliff, I highly recommend that you refrain from pestering me, as I am busy, and so are you. Also, do not refer to me as 'Will'. I am your superior." He commanded with an annoyed voice while fixing his glasses for the umpteenth time that day.

Latching onto the stoic reaper, "There's always time for you, my dear." He replied in a disgustingly sexual tone with an over pronounced wink.

Reluctantly _un_-latching himself from the stoic reaper,"Unfortunately, you have to see the Head of the Dispatch Management Division, but I'll talk with you later, Will." He added with a sigh, obvious disappointment clear from his voice.

With a nod of affirmation, he began marching in typical military fashion to his boss' office.

Naturally, the Head of the Dispatch Management Division, or DMD for short, received the largest office space. Freshly cleaned glass doors with gleaming steel handles glared at him. Within the workspace, there were two overly-comfortable leather guest chairs and an ornate, oak wood bookcase, filled with various texts, that framed the spacious room. A matching oak wood desk with no small amount of counter space had been placed in the _dead_ center of the dust-free room, horrible pun intended. A couch that was more for decoration than anything else rested against the wall opposite the bookcase. The back wall was made of sparkling glass, allowing the inhabitant of the room to gaze upon the rest of the thriving city.

The custom-made chair nearest to the desk was currently occupied by the Head of the DMD, Maxwell Shipley. He was a large, intimidating man with short, slicked-back, salt and pepper hair, and his thick grey mustache moved every time he spoke.

"Spears, sit down." The older shinigami began sternly.

Following his order, William pulled out one of the seats and eased into the expensive leather with a straight, emotionless face.

_"I'm sorry that it has to be this way."_ He said, looking down with genuine grief in his voice.

The younger reaper knew what was about to happen."Sir, with all do respect-!"

The Head of the DMD broke out into a hearty chuckle while clutching his own stomach for stability.

"William, my boy, _calm down_. I'm not going to fire you. I was just cracking a joke. You should loosen that tie of yours." Shipley reassured casually, his throaty voice still giving off little chuckles every few syllables.

William sat frigid in his seat, his normally straight face was broken by the light, annoyed glare in his eyes and frowning tilt of his lips.

"Now, let's get back to business." The older man's voice was more gruff when serious. "There is a special assignment that I need you to accomplish."

William leaned over slightly in curiosity. He had a feeling that it wasn't some everyday task if they had to call him to the Head of the DMD's office.

_"I need you"_ he continued _"to judge the soul of a fallen angel's offspring._ Grace Simmons is her name. Her information is in this folder." He informed while handing William the organized file.

"I expect perfection. _Is that clear_?" He instructed after the younger reaper was finished with his quick inspection of the yellow folder.

William set the file down in his lap, and stared at his superior with self-assured eyes.

"Yes, Sir."


	2. Chapter 2

**Slight Spoilers in this chapter... in every chapter actually. The description of the offices and... well the building in general may not be completely accurate.**

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After exiting the ornately decorated office, the young supervisor of the DMD traveled to the employee's break room for a cup of free coffee, as he had been unable to drink one in the comfort of his home. He still needed to replace his old coffee-maker, as the poor thing had worn away from the constant abuse.

He would need some form of caffeine to get through the day. The souls of half-humans were extraordinarily difficult to work with. Especially with her being part _angel_... fallen or not. He had to tread carefully. _Failure was not an option_. Obviously, angels can't die, so the DMD has no reason to care about them, let alone reap them but, since the girl was half-human, she had the ability to die. However, she did have the option to go back to heaven, as it was not her who had fallen. The decision _he_ had to make was whether or not she would succumb to the darkness.

He had heard of this happening before. _Many_ years ago, a person with a similar type of ancestry had been permitted to live on, as that person had become a highly successful priest later in their lifetime.

However, that was only one case. The other rare cases had ended in a regular death and reaping. 'Hopefully, this one follow that example' he mused silently.

It's not like he wanted all those on the list to die; there was just less paper-work and overtime if the human in question simply succumbed to death. A shinigami had to ask for special permission from the higher-ups to let a human escape death's merciless claws.

In his entire career, he had never asked the council for permission to let a person to live on. He wasn't cruel by any means; he just didn't think it would do the universe any good if those particular humans had lived. That was the rule anyway. The only reason to forgo reaping a soul was if the human in question would live a life beneficial to the world. The closest he had come to saving someone was his graduation test with the author, even though the young Sutcliff had attempted to interfere.

Before exiting the office, the head of the DMD had ordered that the younger reaper should observe the half-angel for the month before the death-date. "Just as a precaution." William could still imagine the old man's rough, throaty voice, explaining the irksome predicament.

Her file stated that she was studying medicine at a college in Bristol, England. Her place of occupation was at an orphanage a mile away from the college. To be more specific, she was the children's nurse. She lived alone at an old apartment complex, conveniently located directly between the college and the orphanage. She had coffee coloured hair and sparkling jade eyes.

Easily locating his own workspace, he settled in the frayed chair, the plastic wheels squeaking with his familiar weight. Flicking neon green-yellow eyes at the always-orderly desk, a result of his own OCD, he opened the old silver work laptop, given to him right after his graduation test. With his calloused finger poised, he began the all-too-tedious process of typing the necessary papers for the job he had just received.

Her death-date was 04/08/86, meaning that he would need to begin his observation 03/08/86. He had four days to prepare the paperwork before the assignment officially began.

'That is plenty of time', the dark-haired reaper mused, sightlessly staring at the uncovered, silver-hued computer.

It only took one to three days for the documents to be approved and stamped. Unless the officials were busy...or just being down-right lazy... and traveling to the living world wasn't a long process by any means.

Locating her would be an easy task. Like him, she was a workaholic. She never went to any places beside the three previously mentioned. There was no mention of a significant other in her file.

Positioning his glasses for the millionth time, his veteran hands typed the long, boring procedure of typing up the documents. He could print them all out later.

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Tired, glass-shielded eyes glanced up at the dusty clock, unsteadily hanging from the right corner of the white, tiled ceiling. The distinct, red numbers displayed 4:57. He could finish writing this last form and head out. His rose-hued fingertips had bruised lightly from the that day's abuse. Every once in a while, he shook his wrists to relieve the ache from typing.

Like most days, Sutcliff had ogled the supervisor of the DMD with_ an undying vengeance_ for the primary portion of the day instead of getting his own work finished.

A lukewarm, half-drank cup of black coffee rested on the brunet's desk, the only thing that diminished the normally flawless work table.

After pre-reading the paper for the third time and finding no imperfections, he clicked the 'send' button with a maintained level of joy. _Finally_, he could leave and rest in the privacy of his own home without annoying crimson-haired reapers and ridiculous heaps of paperwork. It was almost _unbelievable_ how much more difficult it was to deal with a half-human than a normal one.

Simultaneously stretching and standing from his abused office chair, he grabbed the recyclable plastic cup and, despite his desire to shoot the cup basketball-style into the foul-smelling garbage can, he ambled over sluggishly and dropped it in.

Having maintained the same, _exact_ position for the whole day, he cracked his knuckles and tilted his head both right and left to alleviate the tension from his neck.

After swinging open the creaking oak wood doors, he skipped down the marble steps with no hand on the gleaming steel safety bar. All he could think of during his stroll to the mediocre building was how much he couldn't _wait_ for this ordeal to be over and go back to his normal, everyday life.

Contrary to his wishes, _that would never happen._


	3. Chapter 3

It was exactly 0730 hours on Monday, March 8, 1886, otherwise known as the his first day of observing the hybrid seraph.

Most likely, she would be at the college, as the school year was still upon the English. St. Verlyn's college to be exact. Traveling the rooftops with enough ease to represent leisure, he arrived unnoticed. Meticulously searching for that sepia head of hair, he found her in one of the many large, faded-white brick buildings. An older gentleman with pronounced grey sideburns had some sort of metal stick in his possession and was proceeding to poke and prod _every_ inch of a dead frog and its bloody guts, awful English pun fully intended. Most of the younger riffraff, aka the students, were lightly cringing in disgust. Maybe, lightly was too much of an understatement...

He spotted the half-angel eagerly scribbling down notes about the what the old man, aka the teacher, was saying, constantly glancing back up to scrutinize _more_ amphibian guts.

What _sadistic_ _being_ appeared so genuinely _enraptured_ while examining such a poor, little frog?

'Everyone has their quirks.' he supposed. Her medicine classes started at 0700 hours, dissimilar to what the file stated. Today could have just been a simple withdrawal from schedule. He monitored her with the icy, discerning eyes of a hawk throughout the rest of the class and, when the class dismissed, silently followed her like a shadow to the other buildings, carefully scrutinizing the rare subject's every move. Surveillance wasn't the most dignified way to gather information, but, in the end, it accomplished its intended purpose.

The students partook of their midday meal at precisely 1130 hours. Miss Simmons sat in the corner of the large cafeteria, her books and documents spread out liberally, occupying approximately half of the total counter-space. She bit off large chunks of her sandwich and, during the duration of time it took to swallow, fervently absorbed the information from the various, thick, dog-eared textbooks. He mentally noted that none of the other pupils had made any kind of attempt to visit the medicine enthusiast in all her glory.

The only other noteworthy finding of that school day was that she had been _so_ distracted by munching sloppily on a over-ripen pear and simultaneously indulging her eyes in the classic, faded pages of the an original edition of _Hamlet, _lent to her by her friend, the librarian, that she had _strode directly into the white wall._

Falling unceremoniously on the cold, hard ground, her spine-breaking backpack did the exact _opposite_ of cushioning her awkward landing. Grunting in unadulterated misery, she positioned her hands in a push-up fashion, her skinny elbows shaking like chicken wings, and proceeded to fail comically. Not one to throw in the towel easily, she tried again and success was achieved... but not with making little moaning noises throughout the entire process.

Glancing around with a clawing frustration at the chaos that was her painstakingly completed homework, she knelt down and started hastily cleaning, with no care for establishing an order for the mess that had been caused by her own carelessness.

Some of the the passing students had laughed at the brunette's predicament, but no one stopped to offer the least bit of help. William could catch some of the low, garbled, self-reprimanding speech she was vivaciously giving herself.

Now, William was nothing if not a high-class gentleman.

After arranging his glasses out of habit, he causally ambled over to the distressed half-human's papers and stooped down to aid her in stacking the now crinkled homework. The papers had flown haphazardly to both sides of the dirt-smudged hallway; thankfully, all of the students had exited the building by now, so there was no one to trample on the defenseless pages. She was picking up the mess on the left side of the room, which influenced his decision of cleaning the right side of the deceptively wide hallway.

Apologizing out of habit, she began,"Oh, I'm sorry. You don't have t-." Realizing that he was openly ignoring her, she halted her speech and began assembling the papers with a new fever, a hot blush across her face, appropriately expressing her embarrassment from having a complete stranger take such pity on her. _'A complete hottie.'_ she corrected herself. Finally aware that she had been blatantly gawking at the stranger instead of picking up the documents, she sharply turned her head to look fixedly at the object(s) of actual importance and sheepishly gathered the papers in her arms.

Completing the mundane chore at approximately the same time that he did, she meekly trudged to the stranger. After the blushing, little female earnestly tried to stutter out some declaration of gratitude, he only gave a nod of recognition.

"I am William T. Spears." he offered to break some of the awkwardness that he knew she was suffering from.

"Grace Simmons." she replied shakily after a few attempts, even though, unknown to her, he was already familiar with her name, among other things. He had already removed one of his glove-clad hands from under the stack of papers in a cordial offering; she followed his example, albeit more timidly.

Their hands clasped together in an almost business-like fashion, her small hand heating against the black fabric of his gloves. In the background, a villainous bell chimed obnoxiously, reminding her for the third time that she was over-staying her welcome in the school grounds. None of the students stayed this long on a _Monday_; they were only too eager to return to their warm homes and recuperate from the weekend, as college kids _are_ infamous for their hardcore parties. The professors always left early on Monday too, as they still had homework to correct from the week before. With that thought, she abruptly realized that she was alone with this stranger, William, as he had just informed her.

He didn't appear to have any desire to withdraw from the old building, and she was much too busy organizing the documents and pointedly keeping her eyes from roving toward the attractive gentleman, for fear that she would have no reign on removing them. After deeming the crinkled, messy papers a working process for _later, _she gazed up a the kind stranger with a curious blush.

"Um... Thank you for your help, Mr. Spears." The feminine British accent wafted to his ears lightly, not as shakily as it had before. Nodding in an added motion of thanks, she began treading lightly out of the school building, using the same circuit to the ancient library that she had memorized by heart early in the semester.

She wondered why that man had been in the school. He couldn't have been a transfer student; the sweet librarian always told her of the new transfer scholars, and he wasn't dressed in the men's uniform. Narrowing jade eyes, she contemplated why he had been there. Maybe, for an interview? 'Whatever it is,' she mused nonchalantly, 'It probably has nothing to do with _me_.'

_She didn't even realize how **wrong** she was._


	4. Chapter 4

Now, believe me; I understand that the _For Dummies_ series was not available in the late 1800's. I just couldn't resist putting it in here, though. Also, please take no offense if you like politics. I don't own Kuroshitsuji nor the _For Dummies_ series.

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Arriving at the scratched, decaying doors of the school library, Grace, taking in a large breath of the sweet, inky air, gazed with an almost childish wonder at the vast, intimidating bookcases and, releasing that delightful puff of air, skipped the oh-so familiar path to the dusty literature section. Raking calloused, dull-cut fingertips over the thick spines of various classics, _t__his_ is what she loved, reading such divine works of literature, and she did so with the enthusiasm of a kid savoring a stolen cookie. The only other work that could compare was medicine, because there was _never_ a dull paragraph in a medicine book.

Sighing wistfully, she wished against fate that she could indulge her eyes in these beautiful books which had survived the maximum test of the generations. Glancing sadly at the ancient texts, she plodded towards the politics section of the dusty library. Her specified assignment forced her to familiarize her mind with such concepts that the politics section offered in various quantities. Searching boredly through the monotone spines, she just couldn't find the one book she so fervently required. Checking a second time, a third time, there was absolutely _no_ sign of that chartreuse cover. Maybe, it had been misplaced. Examining the vicinity for the helpful, old librarian, she found that obnoxious yellow tome... in the hands another scholar...

_Bloody hell._

Stalking towards the stranger, her conscience begged her to turn back, avoid any kind of confrontation, no matter how minuscule. Especially at times like these, she devotedly cursed her skittishness towards people.

'Why is the subject moving towards me? Did she recognize me?' The dark-haired reaper mentally inquired. There was absolutely no reason for the half-angel to advance towards him. Brows furrowing, he remembered.

Earlier, one of the hybrid's professors had mentioned something about some paper that the students were required to compose for class. William had just assumed that she was just a bibliophile to the nth degree which was, in a sense, a correct theory, judging from her behavior when running pale fingers over the backbones of those old books. He had simply followed her to the library and, when he arrived at the destination, snagged the nearest volume to conceal his features.

'What am I supposed to say? "Hey! Can I have that book you're reading, please?" _Ugh_. Why couldn't I think this through _before_ walking up to some random stranger. I can't turn around now; he's already noticed me. Well, _here goes nothing...'_

Halting at the beaten oak wood table, an awkward noise wafted to his ears. Pale, fingers were twiddling incessantly, a nervous habit that she had acquired over the years. Expectantly peering up at the blushing female through thick lenses, he waited patiently for whatever random inquiry that came his way.

Unable to look the stranger in the eyes, "Would you mind if I-Wait.' stuttering at random intervals, she recognized who he was when he set down the yellow tome. "You're the guy who assisted me with the papers... Liam, wasn't it?" She reclined causally in the tough wood bench, while he corrected her. "_**Wil**liam_, William T. Spears." Her face changed into a morbid hue of magenta in true anime fashion. The hybrid faintly muttered a timid apology. She had scarcely payed any heed to what he was saying at the that time; other, more _alluring_ things had captured her attention.

Like those damn _glasses._

If one could refer to that as a weakness, then she would _proudly_ admit that glasses were her weakness-

Abruptly breaking _that_ train of thought, she focused her attention on the situation at hand. Acquiring that book was necessary for the sake of her paper.

"I..that book..um." She said, stammering sheepishly enough to put even the best shōjo manga authors to shame. 'That was quite the way to ask for something, Grace. Nice job.' Her own thoughts, seeping with enough sarcasm to kill a whale, mocked her.

"Oh, I had just picked this book up randomly. If you want, you can have it." Holding out the object in question, dark-haired shinigami found no suitable reason to lie. She was gazing at him as if he was some kind of guardian angel, meant to protect her.

"Thank you so much. I am so sorry about your name." She spoke heartfully, forest eyes sparkling with supreme embarrassment.

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When investigating her flat, the one of the notable finds was, along with famous pieces of literature and thick, dog-eared medicine textbooks, a _large-_almost obsessive really-collection of feminine manga.

* * *

The last part isn't incredible important to the plot. However, I just wanted to make sure that all the readers were aware of how much of a fangirl she truly is. To clarify something, she doesn't have a crush, per say, on William; she just acknowledges how handsome he is.


	5. Chapter 5

Eyeing the almost-boiling water carefully, she held the stiff, raw noodles in one hand and an old wood spoon in the other like a determined old lady. When the watched pot finally boiled, she dropped the noodles in and brutally poked the square-shaped cluster until individual noodles sank to the bottom of the kettle. The entirely too bland sauce rested on the counter beside the stove. While the noodles boiled for the prescribed eight minutes, she recited-more like slurred-her German paper, stopping momentarily to stir the cheap concoction. Nothing like ramen spaghetti for dinner. Again.

For a medicine major, she really didn't consume the proper nutrients or get enough sleep; she was like a dermatologist with acne. She couldn't help it, though; she was a college student and didn't come from money like most of her fellow pupils. She would have _never_ been able to attended this college without the generous scholarship that the school had offered. Her father owned a fairly successful bakery which supported them well but wasn't nearly enough to pay for a good education in medicine. And it was either study for hours on end to keep her grades up or get kicked out of the school, but it was well worth it. She had always wanted to be a doctor; it was her only dream.

After straining the ramen, she mixed the thick, brick-coloured paste with the noodles while reminiscing about the... _unusual_ course of events that composed her day. She had embarrassed herself impressively by running into the wall. Although, in her defense, it wasn't as though she had never done _that_ before; this was just the first time she had an... _attractive_ audience. He was pretty gentlemanly too, which was kinda rare considering that handsome and nice didn't go together in that school. And she would have never foretold that he would be in the library at the _same_ time she had been and snag the _same_ book for which she was searching. The whole day had been just plain _crazy_.

His presence in the school still bugged her like some cliché, unscatchable itch. He hadn't been in the school uniform; he had no briefcase, which suggested that he had not participated in an interview despite how sophisticatedly he had dressed. No one save for the staff and students were allowed in the building during class hours, and she had never seen him around nor had the librarian, who she had politely interrogated after the politics tome had been acquired, heard of a 'William T. Spears'.

She had to _stop_, stop thinking about it, stop worrying over some boy, and... _stop swallowing noodles by the wooden spoonful. _She needed to focus on her German thingy-majiggy._  
_

* * *

'Observing people is definitely much easier and less-stressful than handling heaps of paperwork.' The solemn shinigami concluded evenly. He was preparing to evacuate the perch that he had occupied for the duration of time she had spent in her living room, if one could call the closet-sized area that. His work for the day had been decidedly finished when she had mumbled about hopping in the shower and "hittin' the hay" whilst pulling a scripted t-shirt over her head and loosening the button of her thread-bare jeans.

Inspecting his notes for the third time to verify to accuracy of them while strolling towards the one building that he wanted to avoid by any mean necessary, his thoughts drifted back to the hybrid. It was interesting and not that she exhibited no remarkable traits carried by angels, and, besides the whole "enraptured by dead amphibian guts" and "running into walls" thing, she acted like a normal human. The fact that she had met him twice in the first day of observation_ was_ strange, however. He certainly hadn't anticipated their encounters.

Arriving at the destination, he reached out his hand to open the thick oak door with no luck. The door was locked, but he needed to drop off his report. He had promised the head of the DMD that he would perform his duties with no mistakes. Missing the report from the first day was quite a mistake. Even though he was the supervisor of the DMD, he was never given a key to the building; he had never required one.

"Oh, WILL!" a shrill voice squeaked at a volume that would make new-born babies go deaf. A piece of copper-plated metal hung from a sharp, manicured nail while painted lips smirked.

Grell began shrieking again, but the superior shinigami cut him off. "I presume that you are the troublemaker who stole the key and locked the door." He stated, eyebrow sinking in fatigue and annoyance while neon eyes glared up at the constantly inappropriate reaper.

''Your assumptions are correct. In order to get the key from me, you have t-t" A Death Scythe that looked more like a gardening tool than anything else was shot at the gleaming metal with practiced force. The shocked bellow of "What?!" was ignored by the brunet.

"Hey! That wasn't fair!" With the red-head hot on his trail, William just plodded towards his desk, not caring about the leather wips and gags decorating the once-innocent workspace. Not even glancing at the pouting reaper, "I expect this to be cleaned up before sunrise." He reclined into the faux leather seat, wheels creaking with the heavy way he sat, and pulled out the silver-hued laptop. He was too tired for some helplessly stupid, innuendo-filled joke. Under a grumpy, hawk-like watch, he typed a brief summary of his findings from the day in record time, sent them to the head of the DMD via email, and exited the monotonous building.

If he wasn't given a raise before this assignment was over, he would _definitely_ consider quitting.

**XXXXXXX**

**The word(s?) thingy-majiggy definitely sounded better in my head.**


	6. Chapter 6

It was the eighth day of observing the half-human.

Besides her own home, the orphanage, and the school itself, she spent a remarkable amount of time in the university's library, even partaking in a few cat naps whilst an abundant pool of drool made its way on makeshift book-pillow that her nose had previously occupied. Luckily, she always woke up before closing time; it was evident that the sweet librarian had gifted her a key to the library, without consulting the other staff members. Other students would venture into the ancient library but would never greet nor acknowledge the brunette, sniffing through every book she could get her paws on. Often times, she left the building during the late evening; when she walked through the dark streets, his watch was imperceptibly more intense, fluorescent eyes flickering to the humans that passed through the vicinity. No encounters between the shinigami and the half-angel had ensued after the first day because he had taken additional caution to avoid it. He had noted that she had a daily routine, and had calculated the times when his watch would not be necessary... Although it was incredibly helpful, research by surveillance was definitely _not _the most dignified way of gathering information.

They were in the library at that very moment. She was sitting in her usual spot, the oak wood bench in the corner with the most wear and tear, and he was in his usual spot, the geography section at the back of the library, a random atlas made twenty years ago concealing emotionless features. If his hearing was reliable and it always was, she had a test in her history class coming up in a few days and was preparing for it with a studying marathon. Dissimilar to the earlier portion of the day, she was wearing reading glasses and comfortably swimming in a grey university sweatshirt that was one size too big. Approximately every seven minutes she would look up from the text, shut her eyes in a cringe, yawn, scratch an itch on her nose with a thick sleeve, and stretch like a mime in an imaginary box.

It was becoming increasingly mundane.

Not to say that he _wanted _something exciting to happen because that would only cause more work.

They had told him that observing a hybrid-angel was a special task and that a certain level of dexterity was required to complete the assignment. That had been a blatant lie. Although, it _did_ take a certain level of _patience_ to get through all that paperwork.

A change had emerged in the tedious cycle. Now, she was dozing off, only resuming the session when her forehead fell against the text in her hand or when the book dropped onto the desk with a measured thud. She did this about eight times before she gave in to temptation. He now noticed that she had a mild habit of snoring, although it was very quiet. She slept for about an hour before he became restless. It was eleven o'clock at night, and an unfortunate necessity of grim reapers was sleep. Glass-shielded eyes were slightly red from exhaustion, making the green in them visibly brighter, and she was testing his overused patience.

William trudged toward her with the enthusiasm of a sloth, jet shoes clacking against the thin monotone-hued carpet.  
"Miss, wake up please. The library is closed." He said softly while shaking her shoulder gently, trying to rouse her, but it was like talking to a rock. He jostled her again, less gently than before...Nothing. Not a stir or sound, save for the mild snoring. "I suppose there is no other way. Forgive me." He apologized in preparation for his next move. Her key was in her pant-pocket, the first place he searched for the cheap piece of copper.

Hoisting the flimsy woman on his shoulder, he ambled to the large door, key in the unoccupied hand and, opening the door, exited the building. He traveled the path that had seen her take to her apartment, coffee-haired head bumping his back with every third step. The doorman at her building either didn't care or wasn't paying attention to the odd duo and let them pass without inquiry. After opening the creaking door and walking to her bedroom, he deposited the woman on the bed with little care and was about to leave when his consciousness stopped him. She worked so hard during the day and stiff muscles would make anyone miserable. Sighing, he picked up the brunette yet again and unraveled the covers. After laying her down gently, he grasped the blankets and draped them over the girl, taking care to cover her shoulders.

William left, feeling more like a babysitter than a god of death.


	7. Chapter 7

It was the ninth day of observing the hybrid seraph.

The morning rays of sunlight shoved their way through her plastic curtains, creating a zebra print of light and shadow on her bed. The woman grumbled, burying her face back into the old, wrinkled pillow with a sharp movement; she stayed that way for no less than a few seconds. Ever so slightly lifting a lone eyelid, she gazed at the dusty clock with a sizable level of dismay. He didn't know why she was so upset about the amount of sleep that she had gotten in the previous hours. She had certainly gotten more than him who had to observe her from dawn to dusk-or much later if she wanted to spend the wee hours of the night in the library- _and_ compile all of his notes from the day into a legible report for the head of the DMD before he so much as _looked_ at his pillow. He knew from the previous week that she had no school on Tuesday and used the primary portion of the day to get enough medical volunteer hours to graduate. She volunteered at the local orphanage as a part-time nurse on Tuesdays, Saturdays, and Sundays, if the week previous coupled with her grumbled complaints of never doing anything fun on the weekend were anything to go by.

The half-angel shoved the covers off of her slender form and stretched while she hobbled out of the bed; simultaneously, a bird flew on the tree branch adjacent to his and became the subject of the shinigami's abrupt, undivided attention while she dressed. He had arrived at her address at promptly 0900 hours which had been the time she left last Tuesday, but he noticed that her daily schedule was not something to rely upon as it was already 0950 hours.

After snagging a protein bar from the sparse shelves in the kitchen, she glanced at the grubby clock with an audible gasp and evacuated the tiny apartment, springing into a light jog after reaching the end of the rusty stairs. He had already gotten to the street when she stopped without event the slightest warning and darted to her apartment like the hounds of hell were trailing behind her. He had _almost _tripped on his own two feet when he turned around to catch up to her with similar abruptness. She hopped up the steps two at a time, racing for no explained reason. He hadn't even reached the entrance of the ancient building when she dashed past him, a box clad in wrapping paper grasped firmly in her willowy fingers.

A present of sorts? Well, there _was_ a big, obnoxious bow wrapped delicately around the thing.

His glasses were bouncing dangerously and almost fell off while he tried to catch up. When he did reach the necessary distance, he noticed-after rearranging his glasses to utmost perfection-that she had a faint grin spread across her lips while she jogged to the orphanage. It was simply a miracle that she didn't smash into someone because of the ragged pace.

She halted at the front door to catch her breath, inhaling the oxygen greedily. After she swept her fingers through the wind-blown, dark locks and adjusted her rumpled clothing, she swung the creaking door open and strolled through the entrance, sighing happily as she did so. She walked to the nurse's office, her name splayed proudly on the door, only after being bombarded by the joyous children who were repeatedly told to return to the breakfast table and to stop bothering Miss Simmons.

She situated her things in the quaint room while munching on the granola bar that _almost _reminded her of stale saltine crackers. She opened the door and poked her head out, "Hannah," she called,"would you please come to my office after breakfast?" After receiving a shy nod of affirmation, she began readying the instruments for the inspection and hid the present in the drawer.

Last weekend, Hannah spent too much time outside in the murky weather and had been subjected to a heavy cold. Because the staff didn't want the other children to catch it, Hannah had to recover alone, except for the times Grace had visited her. Thankfully, it had worked, and the other children were as healthy as horses. On that day, the young doctor simply wanted to make sure that the child's cold was completely gone. Also, it was Hannah's birthday, and Grace had acquired a gift for the shy patient.

A knock on the door was heard by the young nurse; "Come in." the aspiring doctor said, her tone soft yet loud enough for the girl to understand. She walked into the room quietly, almost reminiscent of a mouse. After being told to sit down, she climbed onto the paper-covered chair, her eyes trained on the nurse.

After her temperature had been tested and approved, the nurse causally commented, "Today is your birthday, isn't it?" A sound of affirmation reached the woman's ears, and Grace pulled out the present and handed it to the girl.

Looking at the foreign object with a restrained curiosity, "What is this?" The girl inquired softly, turning the box over multiple times, observing each side with the same shy interest.

"It's a present. Open it." Grace urged, gazing at the child with a small, genuine tilt of her lips. The girl began gingerly tearing the paper and glanced up, seemingly asking if that was the correct way to open the gift; after receiving an approving look, she glanced back down, finally opening the present to reveal a small gray box, similar to a ring box but dull and faded from age. Flipping open the lid revealed a hand-made bracelet crafted from many colorful beads.

"For me?" Her eyes questioned while Grace walked over; the nurse grabbed the bracelet and gently pulled the girl's hand through so the beads could rest delicately on her wrist.

"It looks great on you." The woman complimented, not even looking at the gift; she already knew it looked fantastic because of the lovely smile on the girl's face.

Suddenly pulling the woman's waist into a grateful hug, "Thank you." She whispered into the nurse's stomach, almost unspoken.

Gazing dispassionately at the sweet scene, 'Giving bracelets to orphans doesn't affect the universe.' The stern shinigami mused silently...

_Ah, but the day was young and the_ _story just beginning._

XXXX

The story _is_ just beginning. Muahaha.

Reviews are one of the sources that fuel my writing... Just..-wanted to put that out there.


	8. Chapter 8

The newly acquired ability to_ not_ walk through glass doors and walls-(most of the time at least)-was one that she constantly rejoiced over. Her eyes trailed over the little, jocose shop, softly scanning the area for an acceptable seat. Not that she was too picky. She had stopped by her flat-if one could call the scrubby, closet-sized mess of an area that-after working at the orphanage and snagged her essentials save for food but she would get that later.

After tossing the bulky backpack on a random section of the booth not really caring where it landed, she reclined in the seat, seemingly claiming ownership and stretched out. She hoped that she looked as sensual as a feline but knew that she probably looked more like a hospitalized grandma getting out of bed complete with groans. Cracking one's knuckles is said to cause arthritis, but at that moment, she couldn't find the desire to care. Cringing visibly, she tilted her head sideways, trying to remove the kinks from her neck. Her brown hair shifted in the process much more than she would have preferred. Slumping in the seat while yawning once more, she purposely raised her hand, barely concealing the prolonged action.

She tapped her fingers against the table much like a pianist would run their fingers across a piano, trying to motivate her tired form to get out the booth, but... the plastic-like material of the seat felt too comfy to vacate. Her eyelids were weighed down by lead. Her eyes barely visible under the heavy lids. The charming barista to her left snorted through his nose, and a lone, irritated eye peeked open to silence him. His response was to laugh mirthfully at her attempt to appear the least bit menacing.

Her lips let loose a pitiful sigh as she defied gravity and got up from the booth. A groan joined the sigh when she stood up straight. Just because she was standing didn't necessarily mean that she was moving; it took about two minutes for her to take the first, unenthusiastic step. While plodding towards the pristine kiosk, she messily ran her fingers through the brown locks at the side of her head, further relaxing her mind. She wouldn't dare preen in front of the charming barista; any chance to impress him had been thrown out the window on the first day she went to the shop, a day of her life that she would rather not revisit, not for anyone.

This was her haunt, the place that she would venture to after work on Tuesdays and the weekends, and haunts were _not_ places where one would primp and preen. Haunts were where one unwinded and just stopped caring about the outside world, and impressing cute boys. Because honestly every time an attractive male was in the picture, she always, _always_ managed to collide with something: a wall, door, bay window, poles, telephone booths, you name it.. _  
_

Finally arriving at the counter, she stared at the descriptive menu spread across the wall behind the boy, licking her lips multiple times, as if they were parched. Her gaze migrated to the towel thrown over his broad shoulder,"Can I have..the... thing-y?" She said sluggishly, almost as if she was unsure. The heavy, repetitive way she blinked and the way her arms were carelessly dangling at her sides could be blamed for the disoriented way she looked when ordering.

"Sure." A masculine chuckle and the glimmer of amusement in his eyes could have made other women transform into putty. His voice was too enticing, laugh too captivating.

And don't even get her started on his eyes... _How_ his eyes were such a deep, mesmerizing shade of carribean blue, she would not know-nor would she ask. But she was too seasoned to think that she would stand a chance against his natural-born charm; so she just stared at the sweets, hidden from her merciless claws by a villainous layer of glass.

Knowing exactly what she wanted as she_ was_ a regular, he left to concoct her caffeine-infused beverage. As he flicked the appropriate switches, Grace wondered just what kind of sorcery he used to prepare the drink that could fill_ her_ with energy...

Narrowed, acidic green eyes, reminiscent of a hawk, stared at the casual interaction. The blonde male reminded the shinigami of the young Ronald Knox, but the setting sun to his side filled the sky with an array of colors while the dimming light generously refracted from the window of the quaint shop, obnoxiously blocking his view of the subject and her friend; so he couldn't be sure.

But he did know that the barista's name, Carter Reis, was on the list.

XXXXXX

I feel kinda bad. She runs into so many walls.

Reviews are one of the many sources of my writing..-Just, again, wanted to put that out there.


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